


Breathe

by hypnoshatesme



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bittersweet, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Michael Shelley is dead I mean like nobody is dying in this, Other, but like also a little angsty, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27629219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme
Summary: They have a conversation about past and present, and truths that might make little sense.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> look sometimes you joke about how you turn every breath your friend takes into a gerrymichael fanfic and your conversation partner plays along and then you blink and you've been thinking way too much about that joke, are Feeling things about it and have accidentally started another wip.

Something felt strange about Michael lately. Strange in a different way than usual. It wasn’t the sense of confusion it seemed to bring with it wherever it went, nor was it the fact that its body seemed to never quite be right. Gerry, for better or worse, had gotten used to all that, the inherent weirdness that came with accepting this Michael into his life. 

So he knew that whatever it was that was bothering him lately, it had to be something else. He just couldn’t tell  _ what _ it was. But something was wrong, even for Michael’s standards. And it was always  _ there _ . They were curled up in bed. It was late but Gerry didn't feel sleepy and Michael had been there all evening, watching him work. 

Gerry always felt bad when it came over at an inconvenient time, but Michael seemed to have a talent for that. At least tonight he was free to just hang out and cuddle. Still, something felt off. He could feel the usual strangeness of touching it, what went for its chest against the length of Gerry's back, feeling just a bit removed from a chest or a human in general, really. But that wasn't it and Gerry could barely focus on its sharp fingertips running up and down his arms, the slight static prickling his skin, because something felt  _ wrong _ and he was trying to figure out _ what _ .

It was very quiet, even though Michael never seemed like it. It _ felt _ loud, even if there wasn't any sound to it. But right now there  _ was _ . Sound and movement, a rise and fall of its chest that Gerry had first assumed to be his own. Michael was breathing. It didn't  _ breathe _ .

"You are breathing,” he blurted out, confused.

"You noticed."

Gerry waited for it to elaborate, but it didn’t. He turned his head to look at it, squinting at the sudden brightness of its eyes. "Why?"

Michael met his eyes. "I thought it might be less...disquieting."

"It's actually more disquieting."

"Oh." It stopped for a moment. Gerry wasn’t sure with what, but it just  _ stopped _ . "I should stop?"

"If you don't mind." He turned his head with a sigh, leaning back into its chest. Michael had stopped breathing, so there was no weird movement under his head anymore. It felt as it should, which meant that it felt like it shouldn’t. But at least that distinct flavour of wrongness was gone.

"Why did you think it would be better?" Gerry mumbled after a moment, trying to remember if he had alluded to that being the case at some point. He at least couldn’t remember to do so. Its lack of breathing had really never been on the forefront of Gerry’s mind. It had taken him quite some time to even notice it with the utter mess that was Michael’s very being.

Michael seemed to hesitate, or maybe it was simply choosing its words. It did that often. "You used to...you were _ fond _ of him. Of...me? When I...he…. _ I _ breathed."

The silence that followed was staticky as it was often left when Michael was struggling to put words to what it wanted to say. It happened frequently. Talking about itself was difficult when the concept wasn’t quite palpable to it.

Gerry was frowning. He didn’t understand where this was coming from. They didn’t talk about Michael much. He knew it had trouble with the whole concept of identity, but he had never heard it refer to itself as Michael before. Gerry had struggled plenty with coming to terms that this wasn’t Michael Shelley, even if it looked like him. Even if it had his memories. He wasn’t aware that  _ it  _ had any struggles with that. "I’m fond of  _ you _ . Without the breathing." 

Without many things that had made Michael Shelley Michael Shelley. But that wasn’t the point. Gerry was tired of drawing comparisons. He knew this wasn’t Michael Shelley.

It stayed silent and it  _ felt _ uncomfortable and Gerry had no idea what to do with that. He turned around to look at it. "Do you not believe me?"

Michael sighed. "I can tell lies."

Gerry assumed that meant it knew he was telling the truth. Which still left the question open as to what prompted it to try breathing. "Then what made you think that you should breathe?"

There was a long moment of silence before it spoke again, quietly, "You...were crying. The other day. Night." It looked to the side, and Gerry did not have to follow its eyes to know it was looking at the framed picture on the nightstand. It was a horrible photograph, at an odd angle and slightly shaky and Michael had loved it dearly because it was their first photograph together, even though he himself was slightly cut off. It wasn't the only one by far, and there were many pictures Gerry had that he liked better, but this one reminded him of that lovely enamoured smile on Michael’s lips every time he looked at it, of his warm grey eyes and and his whole expression just so full of love, relaxed. Gerry had loved those moments and so he had kept it there even if it sometimes hurt to look at because he knew he would never see that expression, that face, really, again. Michael was gone.

Silence. "I miss him."

"I know," it mumbled and it wrapped its arms around him to squeeze him gently. Michael hated how sad he sounded. It didn’t like seeing him sad.

"I love you."

"I know."

Gerry looked up at its face. "You're not him. And you don't have to be him."

Michael knew it was the truth, that he was being honest. But Gerry still sounded hurt, and that somehow made it worse.

"I just thought-” It stopped, trying to figure out what it thought. It just wanted Gerry to stop being sad. “...I don't like you hurting."

Gerry smiled, a little sad, a little fond. Being cared for again, having somebody - something - be concerned about his wellbeing still left him a little flustered. He didn’t have the time to get used to it with Michael before. Or maybe Gerry never would, maybe he would always feel a strange awe at the realisation that he lived in something’s mind enough for it to worry about him hurting. 

Nonetheless, it wasn’t the kind of pain it could fix, Gerry knew. "I don't think it'll stop. I don't think you can do anything to make it stop."

Michael was grimacing. "I don't like it."

Its voice was getting a little frizzy as it often did when it was feeling something too much and tried to express it too clearly. Gerry pet its cheek gently. "I know." He sighed. "Some days are just worse than others. Nothing to be done."

Michael looked at him, not satisfied with the conversation at all. But it didn’t push further, loosened his grip when Gerry started to shift back to leaning against it. It leaned its head on Gerry’s, hair soft and warm beneath its chin.

"Would you like him back?"

Michael felt him tense for a moment. Then he sighed. "There's no point in lying to you. If I could have him back? Yes. I would." Gerry closed his eyes. He had thought about this so much, but never said it. Maybe he should have said it. He hadn’t known it was weighing so heavy on Michael. "But that doesn't mean I'd want you gone. I do love you."

Michael took its time to take those words in, to try and make sense of it. "You want both." The tone was a little teasing, but gentle.

Gerry chuckled. "I guess."

It felt good to hear him chuckle, and Michael grinned. "Demanding."

There was a slight smile on Gerry’s lips, but it vanished with another sigh. He looked down at Michael’s too sharp fingers in his lap, carefully curled in to not accidentally cut him. "I know it won't happen. I...I've accepted that now." It had taken long enough. But he knew Michael was gone for good, and he had known so for a while. There was no point to hope. "I also...don't think I'll ever stop missing him." Even if Gerry could lie, it would be cruel to lie about this to Michael. He gently touched its wrist with his fingers. "But I also love you. Not as him, not as a...replacement. Just...different, I guess." He traced the palm of its hand, too big and not feeling like anything Gerry would recognise as a hand, but he recognised it as Michael and that was all he cared about. "Does that make sense?"

Michael uncurled its fingers a little, gave him space to follow lines that weren’t there on skin that wasn’t skin. "It's the truth."

"Yeah, it is." Gerry smiled a little. He had come to that same conclusion a while ago. Thinking about it too hard was a waste of time. He felt as he felt, and he couldn’t change that. And if he could, he wouldn’t. He had loved and still loved Michael Shelley, but he also loved this Michael. Unrelated and removed. It just was both true. "I just want to make it clear that you don't need to try and be more like him. You can be yourself. I love  _ you _ ."

Michael considered for a moment, watched Gerry’s elegant fingers dance over its palm. "I don't like to  _ be _ ."

Gerry chuckled again, and Michael knew it must have said something good if that was the reaction. “I, for my part, am happy you are. How else could I do this?” Gerry shifted his head and pressed his lips to Michael’s cheek. There was colour on its cheeks, and maybe some nonsensical shapes flickering through skin that was unlike skin, and none of it looked right, and Gerry still felt warm at the knowledge that this was Michael blushing. He pressed another kiss to its jaw. “I love you.”

Michael pressed their noses together, locked eyes, the mess of colours in its own slower, focused. It kissed his upper lip tenderly, and Gerry smiled. Words were difficult for Michael, but Gerry found it got its point across well with actions when it wanted to. 

“I know you love me, too,” he mumbled, before closing the gap between their lips for a proper kiss.


End file.
